


Caution to the Wind

by irisbleufic



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Coming Out, Fantasizing, Homecoming, M/M, Recovery, Slice of Life, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasies are only dangerous when you start wishing they'll come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Wildest Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in November of 2008.

It was the worst subject they could've got onto, but Danny didn't know it at the time. Bullshit sessions 'round the station on slow days were mostly harmless. Doris always took it upon herself to find a suitable topic for discussion, which normally degenerated into swearing and bin-tossing in thirty seconds flat. Nicholas mostly kept to himself in the office, although he _did_ occasionally poke his head into the room—to chide them, usually, but sometimes to participate. He had the advantage of shelter from the flying bins, of which Danny sometimes took advantage. The Andys ususally shot him dagger-glances through the glass, whereas Doris had taken to winking.

Danny tried not to think overmuch about that. It _implied_ things.

The subject in question was Fisher's new calendar of pin-up girls. They looked to be mostly wholesome blonde and brunette types, not too anorexic, and none of them were starkers. Danny peered over Fisher's shoulder as he flipped through, catching Walker's muddled mutterings of approval as Saxon's amiable tail-wagging _thwap-thwapped_ their shins. Doris, on her way to Nicholas's office with a clipboard, paused across the desk to peer at the images upside-down. She pointed to the one they were on at the minute, a ginger-haired lass draped in rose chiffon.

"She's a real looker, isn't she? Wish I had that hair!"

Danny shrugged. "She's pretty enough."

"Nicearse," Walker said decisively.

"Reminds me of the wife when she was young," Fisher admitted.

"You lot are _sad_ ," Wainwright informed them, swaggering into the room with Cartwright on his heels. "If you've ever got a hankering for some _real_ gems of pornography, you just pop on back to the office and we'll sort you out."

Danny cringed. "Too much information, that is!"

"Gotnoclass," said Walker, knowingly, and patted his arm.

"Nobody asked you," Doris said, sticking the pen behind her ear. "Besides, it figures you sods would need it all hangin' out. No bloody imagination!"

Being closest to the wall, Cartwright dropped fifty pence in the box on her behalf.

"Are you implying I can't fantasize without visual aids?" Wainwright asked, eyebrows raised. "Like hell I can't! I can picture you in nothing but your knickers down at the duck pond. How's that?"

"Doesn't count," Doris said, instantly smug, "considering it actually _happened_."

Danny shut his eyes "Weren't you paying attention when I said that's _too much information_?"

Walker patted his arm again, and Saxon barked helpfully.

"Go on then, Doris," Cartwright challenged, not to be left out. "What's your fantasy?"

"Oh—we've gone all show and tell, have we?" laughed Fisher, nervously.

"If you like," said Wainwright, folding his arms across his chest. "Eh, Doris?"

Doris looked thoughtful for a few seconds, almost whimsical, and then mused: "There's nothing like a good, hot soak in the bath with a bottle of champagne and strawberries. I like to imagine some handsome American actor's feeding them to me!"

Wainwright looked put-out. " _Which_ American actor?"

" _Any_ American actor. Well, maybe not that chap who got shoved in the wood chipper."

"But _Fargo_ 's a classic!" Danny blurted, unable to remain silent any longer. "And you ought to've enjoyed that, seeing as it's about a brave policewoman. Er. _Officer_."

The Andys exchanged sly glances before fixing on Danny in perfect unison.

"What about _you_?" Cartwright asked. "Or didn't you pay attention in school when they got to that bit in biology?"

Danny bristled. "Just because I didn't take it in A-levels doesn't mean I don't know what goes where. Anyway, _you_ aren't tripping all over yourself to contribute, either."

Wainwright nudged his partner helpfully. Uncomfortably, Cartwright cleared his throat.

"Involves this girl off a porno, plus rollerskates. Your turn!"

"Titsanarse," volunteered Walker, valiantly, as if to save Danny the trouble.

"Yeah, we know," Cartwright sighed. "But we're talking about Butterman here."

"Well," Fisher piped up, brightly, "if it's moral support he needs, I'm more than happy to admit that _my_ ideal fantasy goes something like this—"

"We've seen the fucking calendar," Wainwright said, dropping a pound in the box. Danny had thought that Nicholas's inflation of the penalties would act as a deterrent, but that theory was dead in the water. "Come on, Danny-boy. We haven't got all day."

Danny sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to get out of this. He stared at the floor for a few seconds and considered Doris's example of the bath. The most Danny ever thought about in the shower was how tired he was on account of having stayed up all night watching movies with Nicholas—the occurrence of which was back to pre-explosion frequency, thank Grayskull—and if he _did_ anything in the shower other than wash, well, he'd always assumed it was because nature bloody well intended him to. The only other showers he could think of were the ones he took at the station, and, nine times out of ten, Nicholas wasn't far off, chatting politely to the tiles because he never seemed able to meet anybody's eyes when they spoke to him there. Danny'd never been especially ill at ease in the changing room, and he had to admit Nicholas was nice to look at in an aesthetics-of-physical-form sort of way. The clasp of his chain always seemed to drift down to his gleaming, soap-slick collarbone, and it always took the last of Danny's resolve for him not to reach over and adjust it...

Danny realized that Doris was looking at him intently. He cleared his throat.

"Oh, you know. As visuals go, I'm more into action flicks and stuff. I reckon I'm always looking forward to the next big release date—" _letting his fingers glide up from the clasp and into Nicholas's dripping hair_ "—imagining the brilliant chase scenes - " _and the startled light in Nicholas's eyes as he's pulled in close_ "—and the hot chicks," Danny finished lamely. "So...yeah. In conclusion, Bond girls are _ace_."

"Dare I ask?" ventured Nicholas, perplexed, peering around the corner.

"We're discussing fantasies," said Doris, eagerly. "Have you got any, Inspector?"

Nicholas's eyes moved from Danny to Doris, and then to the Andys, who were beside him. His critical gaze rested briefly on Fisher's calendar before shifting back to Danny.

"That's classified information," he said, gracing them all with something that might have been a half-smile. "Keep your voices down if you can help it. I'm waiting on an important call." And, just like that, he was gone.

"Bollocks," muttered Walker, mischievously. Saxon whined.

"Well, there you have it," Wainwright said. "God's own Angel has spoken. Get back to fucking work."

"That'll be _two_ pounds, Detective," said Nicholas, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"And your little dog, too," Cartwright sulked, shoving two pounds and ten pence into the box before following Wainwright back the hall. Walker was chuckling audibly.

"Just another day 'round the office," Doris said, shrugging, and moved on.

Danny lingered a few moments at Fisher's shoulder, but it wasn't because the page-flipping had resumed ("Nicetits _an_ arse"). It was because Nicholas was grinning at him through the glass, as if he suspected this had somehow been all Danny's fault.

Danny, on the other hand, was of the opinion that he ought to've called in sick.

 

 

* * *

 

Nicholas and Danny were the first ones to arrive at the station each day—or, rather, the old church hall that was _serving_ as a station while the new one got built—and they were always the last ones to leave. Although the Andys had worked their tag-teaming practices back up to speed, they always fucked off slightly early if they could help it. They didn't dare cross Nicholas anymore, at least not in earnest. Danny reckoned that was why they rode him a little hard at times. If they couldn't get to the Inspector, they could at least get to Inspector's Pet. Danny didn't mind much anymore. Almost dying did wonders for one's outlook on life. Low-grade verbal abuse was pretty trivial.

At the moment, Danny was unbuttoning his shirt and pondering the way that Nicholas never seemed to leave his off for more than a few seconds. Rather than get distracted and stand there shirtless whilst talking, which Danny knew he did without blinking, Nicholas tended to leave his shirt on and hanging open like some kind of pitiful dressing-gown. And then when he'd managed to fish his street clothes out of his locker, he'd shrug out of it and into his other shirt as quickly as possible. In fact, he'd just done it, which was what had got Danny thinking about it in the first place. It was odd, just like the way Nicholas talked at the floor when they were showering.

Just as Danny was about to ask Nicholas if he got cold easily, Nicholas said, "What was that all about, anyway?"

Danny blinked, alarmed. "What was _what_ all about?"

Nicholas tilted his head a little and smiled, that sort of affectionate don't-try-to-pull-one-over-on-me look. "Bond girls are _ace_ ," he mimicked.

"What of it?" Danny asked, mildly defensive, turning his attention on his locker. "They are, aren't they?" The weight of Nicholas's eyes made him shiver.

The ensuing silence indicated to Danny that Nicholas was doing his floundering-fish impression, the prospect of which was so interesting given the circumstances that Danny abruptly turned his head, only to miss it. Nicholas looked sheepish.

"Some of them are. But I meant the entire conversation, most of which I'm sure I should be glad I missed. I take it that this one's the calendar's fault, not Doris's?"

"Doris helped," Danny sighed, grinning. "She was on about champagne and strawberries in the bath. Also attractive American actors feeding them to her."

"Too much information, thank you," said Nicholas, busy buttoning up his shirt.

"D'you get cold easily?" Danny asked, opting for a change of subject.

Nicholas blinked at him, as if he didn't follow. "What? Sometimes. Why?"

"You dress quickly, s'all," Danny said, struggling a bit with his jumper. The residual pains in his chest and abdomen were subsiding by the day, but there were certain things he couldn't do without a firm reminder of all those months spent in hospital. He huffed, about to ask for help, but Nicholas's hands were already there, tugging the garment down until it covered all of him properly. And there was slightly less of him, too: he'd lost about a stone and a half on account of the entire ordeal. Where Danny had been somewhat pleased to learn this, Nicholas had been intensely concerned. Twenty-one pounds didn't just vanish overnight.

"You'd better be eating properly when I'm not watching," Nicholas said, quickly withdrawing his hands from Danny's hips. "On the other hand, you'd better not be living on take-away, either."

Danny slapped his stomach, poked it a few times, and shrugged. "I haven't gained it back, but I haven't lost any more, either. There, you satisfied?"

Nick nodded, smiling as he shoved his feet into his shoes. "Before long, I'll have you joining me on morning runs. It'd be good for you, maybe help with the occasional breathing issues." Nick looked worried again, all mother-hen-like. Either it suited him, or Danny had gone soft. If Nicholas had just left his hands where they'd been...

"Psssh, I think _not_ ," Danny informed him, bending too quickly to fish around in the bottom of the locker for his trainers. "That's too early for my blood. Next time you're up with the chickens, give 'em my regards! Oof. _Ow_."

Nicholas hauled Danny up—too brief, those arms sure and tight around Danny's ribcage—sat him down on the bench, and fetched the shoes for him. Put them on him, even, batting Danny's hands away when he tried to intervene in the tying process. Nicholas was teasing him, and having a good time of it, too. He'd double-knotted the laces, the cheeky fucker. Nicholas wasn't the goody-two-shoes he'd have you believe.

"If they've got to cut me out of those, the blame's on you," Danny said, letting Nicholas help him to his feet. There weren't any words light enough to cover the fact that he wanted nothing more than for Nicholas to keep touching him, but he blundered on anyway. "And I can just picture you jogging along after the ambulance, too."

That was a mistake, because Nicholas looked as if he'd just been punched in the stomach. However, the fact he hadn't let go of Danny's hands suggested otherwise. He squeezed them, and Danny wondered if his knuckles were going to crack. Nicholas had strong hands for such a small bloke. Add to that the fact he'd had a knife shoved through one of them and it seemed all the more impressive.

"I understand that you're trying to lighten the mood, but I'd rather you didn't tempt fate," Nicholas said, searching Danny's eyes for comprehension. "We've only just got you back, and I'm not..." Nicholas stopped, suddenly all deer-in-the-headlights to go along with his floundering. He let go of Danny's hands and touched his forearms instead, not purely companionable and not quite a caress. "You're all I've got."

"Yeah," Danny said, his heart hammering hard enough to rattle the lockers. "You too."

Nick smiled, but it was somehow forced. "Good," he said, patting Danny's elbows before letting his hands drop to his sides. "Have you brought the car today?"

"No," Danny admitted. "I walked."

"That'll be why you're not gaining weight, I suspect." Nicholas sounded disapproving.

"Walking's not running, but it'll do. It makes me feel better, you know?"

"Yes," Nicholas said. "I'll walk you home, then."

And there were no words right enough, either, to describe the trouble Danny was in.

 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Danny remembered his dreams vividly. He was pretty certain he'd had several, although the one in question had involved asking Nicholas in for coffee—this time with full knowledge of what he was after when he said it, and this time, Nicholas hadn't refused him on the grounds that the offer didn't include beer. Nicholas had followed Danny into his small kitchen, and they'd barely got to flipping the switch on the electric kettle when he'd pinned Danny against the counter and kissed him. The bits in the middle were blurry, but judging by his body's reaction, some part of his brain had recorded every scandalous detail. The vague impression of Nicholas's damp, flushed skin and slight, yet solid weight against him made Danny shudder.

For the first time in a couple of weeks, he did more than just wash in the shower—and unless Nicholas Angel _was_ a force of nature, Danny very much doubted his previous reasoning. It was difficult enough to face the fact that he'd been wrong about not having fantasies, and more difficult still to own up to the fact that his were more vulnerable than everyone else's (unless everyone else had been lying, too).

When he arrived at the station, Nicholas bid him good morning and asked him if he'd slept well. Danny said yes, he had, and bit back the part where he'd wanted to add that it would've been even _better_ if Nicholas had really been there beside him. Instead, he mumbled something about cold coffee and made a bee-line for his desk. Danny could hear silent floundering behind him, but Nicholas didn't follow more than a few steps before retreating back into the office. _Dammit_.

Doris, apparently, had been watching the entire exchange, because she was the one to appear instead of Nicholas, hovering nervously over Danny's desk with a half-eaten tea cake in her hand. She broke it and offered the un-gnawed bit to Danny.

"It's good for what ails you," she said. "I take it you didn't really sleep that well? Takes one to know one. Quite the insomniac, me, ever since school. Remember?"

"Yeah," Danny agreed, hesitantly accepting the tea cake. Nicholas would want him to eat it. "You always got yelled at for fallin' asleep during lessons. I felt especially bad," he added, mouth full, "'cause you couldn't seem to help it. Plus, Mrs. Cotter was a _boring_ old hag. To this day, I think she's why I hate maths."

Doris pulled up a nearby chair and sat down across from him, grinning as she finished her half of the tea cake. "S'good, innit? Mum made 'em. There's more if you want."

"No thanks," Danny said, brushing his hands off. "Can't ruin all the good getting shot's done me. I reckon I'll be as fast as Nicholas before too long, what do you think?"

Doris frowned for a split second, then gave in and laughed with him. "I suppose so. You _are_ looking better by the day." Her expression changed a little, almost guiltily. "Like yesterday, I guess—you took it all in stride. You always did, though."

"What, the Andys?" Danny rolled his eyes. "Wankers never change, no matter what their stripes. It was bizarre, though, in that they really got me to thinking."

Doris suddenly perked up. "About what?"

"You know," Danny said, casually starting to doodle on a stray piece of paper. "Fantasies an' everything. We all have 'em, don't we? And we all lie, too, when it comes down to it."

"Walker doesn't," Doris pointed out, giggling. "Wears his on his sleeve, he does!" She sobered abruptly, sighing. "Me too, I reckon. I've got no reason to lie about nothing, especially not strawberries, and I _do_ fancy that Brad Pitt fellow."

Danny glanced up at her. "That's fair enough." The cartoon wouldn't cooperate.

"What about you? Do you _really_ think about them Bond girls twenty-four-seven?"

"No," Danny admitted, scribbling out the caricature of Nicholas. He hadn't got the chin right. "It's more complicated than that, of course. No rollerskates, though!"

Doris laughed even louder, momentarily startling everyone in the room. Walker gave them a bewildered, yet interested look from the back corner, eyebrows raised. He was in the process of feeding Saxon a bit of tea cake.

"It takes all sorts," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Though Andy'll never live that one down, will he?" She sighed, shifting in her chair, which indicated to Danny that another question was coming. "So if not rollerskates, then...?"

Danny sighed and started to sketch Mr. Staker's swan, wings outstretched, with one of his trainers dangling by one lace from its beak. "Coffee that never gets drunk. Messing around in bed. Honestly, Doris, it's _boring_. Nothing fancy like your strawberries."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said reassuringly, reaching over to pat his hand. "Strawberries ain't everybody's speed, and I'm sure even Bond girls like a nice, quiet evening at home with coffee and such. You like it cozy, is all. Familiar. There's nothin' wrong with that!"

"Nothintall," Walker cut in, supportively. "Sniceallright."

Danny smiled by way of thanks, although he was certain his cheeks were turning pink. The swan was looking lop-sided, as he'd thoroughly dropped his concentration in favor of imagining finally getting 'round to the coffee—only _in_ bed, afterward, with Nicholas holding the mug for him and everything. He hadn't just gone soft; he was _far_ gone.

Doris cleared her throat, ruining the moment.

"I'll let you get back to your Bond girls and coffee," she said, inexplicably glancing over at the office. Nicholas was on the phone, gesturing as he spoke, oblivious to everything else. "And your masterpiece," she added, then winked at him.

Walker gave him a rare thumbs-up, patting Saxon on the head.

Danny sighed and got back to his drawing, where, as it turned out, his other shoe and other items of clothing besides were strewn in the grass alongside the duck-pond. Additional garments and oddments were thrown in for good measure: running shorts, tube socks, and a conspicuously broken chain (its medal nowhere to be found).

 

* * *

 

The cartoon turned out well enough in the end that Danny decided he'd keep it. He hid it under the book of official rules and regulations in his bottom drawer, as he knew that nobody else in the station would nick his copy. Besides, they'd all got their own, as Nicholas had made a point of ordering enough for everybody. It was just that Danny had been far more vigilant in putting his to use. Like now, for instance.

When home-time rolled around, the first thing Fisher said was, "Anyone fancy a pint?"

There were general murmurs of agreement, one of which had come from the doorway, where Nicholas happened to be standing. He glanced at Danny expectantly.

Danny grinned at him, and then said to Fisher, "Why not?"

Nicholas had learned a thing or two about switching off that extended beyond the confines of Danny's couch. The pub was one space in which switching off was _mandatory_ , and, rule-hound that he was, Nicholas now adhered to this statute (more or less) without question. Tonight, his poison was Continental, some Belgian affair with an unpronounceable name. Which Nicholas could of course pronounce flawlessly.

"Where do you learn this stuff, anyway?" Danny asked, trailing after him back to the table. Nicholas had taken one of the seats at the very end, and Danny had chosen to sit across from him rather than beside him. Danny preferred to be looking into Nicholas's eyes when they spoke. There was a natural directness in Nicholas's address, even when he was speaking to the shower tiles, and Danny had learned a thing or two about making sure he was its object.

Nicholas shrugged, taking a sip. "You can get Continental beers at most pubs in London. When there's so much variety at your disposal, why not try them all?"

"No, no," Danny said, shaking his head. "I mean how to _say_ it."

"What, Maredsous Tripel? It's French. They speak several languages in Belgium, French being the simplest to get one's tongue around. If it were one of the Flemish names, you'd see me struggling!"

"Huh," Danny said, and took a sip of his cider. Just then, the Andys walked in.

"Starting without us, I see," said Cartwright, claiming the seat right next to Danny. He let his eyes drift from Danny over to Nicholas. "What're we drinking tonight, ladies?"

"It's too strong for you by far," said Nicholas, good-naturedly. "You'd do well to stick with lemonade. Of course, I've heard that the cranberry juice comes at a high recommendation."

Cartwright grinned in spite of himself, then went deadpan again at a glare from Wainwright, who'd just returned from the bar with two heaping pints of Guinness.

"What's so funny? Did the Inspector here dazzle you with his witty acumen?"

Cartwright cleared his throat and sat back, his seriousness still forced. "No, actually—we're back to discussing fantasies again, as luck would have it. After all, we never got to hear Nicholas's take on the matter, did we? Classified information ceases to be classified after hours. _Everybody_ knows that."

Nicholas went from affable to scowling in half a second flat, and Danny wanted to crawl under the table. Wherever this was headed, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Whereas I thought the rule went something like 'Whatever happens at the station, stays at the station,'" said Doris, joining them out of nowhere. "Don't you knobs have anything better to do than bring your grievances along for a drink, too?"

"I think the Inspector missed that one when he made up the new swears list," tutted Wainwright. "What's the fine for phallic references, do you figure? A tenner?"

"Twenty if you keep this nonsense up," Nicholas said gravely. Danny could tell by the way he was squeezing the life out of his glass that there was something particular under his skin, but as to _what_ , that was anybody's guess. Judging by Doris's nervous expression, it was plain as day to _her_. And however much Danny hated maths, he _could_ put two and two together.

"C'mon, Nicholas," said Cartwright, already sounding more curious than malicious. "We've all been good sports and laid our souls bare—even Danny, here," he added, raising his glass in Danny's direction. Danny just nodded as if to say, sure, taking one for the team and all that, but the thought gave him no comfort. Because Nicholas was human, he'd turn out to have fantasies just like the rest of them. Unlike the rest of them, however, he was a _rotten_ liar.

Nicholas stared into his glass for a few long seconds, then took a rather longer swig than was necessary. He made a face, but whether it was he actually didn't like what he was drinking or it was sensory overload, Danny couldn't be sure. When the moment passed, he put his glass down calmly on the nearest coaster and said, "I'm not much for magazines or those...films. I prefer it to be left to the imagination, thank you."

Wainwright rolled his eyes. "We already know the _definition_ of a fantasy, thanks. It's a _description_ we're after. As in, a description of _yours_. For instance, Cartwright here evidently has a thing for roller skates—"

"Awreadyheardit," said Walker from the opposite end of the table, shaking his head.

"—and me, I've got a thing for lacy knickers. On _women_ , I mean. So," Wainwright concluded, "what do you, Inspector Nicholas Angel, have a _thing_ for?"

"Besides plants," Cartwright added. "Although, plants _are_ nice. My nan has—"

Wainwright elbowed him into silence and sat back, glowering formidably.

Up until that point, Danny hoped he had been giving Nicholas something to focus on so he didn't lose his cool and go off on one of those tight-arsed lectures. However, it was clear that Nicholas's cool was, by that point, virtually non-existent. He fixed Wainwright with an icy, piercing stare and said, "What part of my wish to refrain from participating in this insipid conversation _don't_ you understand?"

"Probably the part where you use too many big words," said Danny, snickering. He desperately hoped that some humor would serve to diffuse the situation, but he could tell that Cartwright was only just getting started.

"Fair enough," Cartwright said, both hands in the air. "I'll just use _my_ imagination, and believe me, it ain't pretty."

"Since you've declined to be a good sport," Wainwright said, "I suppose we could just go back and take a closer look at Sergeant Butterman. He's a fascinating case."

Danny felt his palms clam up, and it wasn't the chill from his glass, either. The flash of rage in Nicholas's eyes before he turned and let Wainwright have it was _truly_ something. It was like the look he got when he took aim to shoot at something, only sharper and ten times as fierce. And Nicholas Angel _never missed_.

"If you think there's anything you can possibly tell me about Danny that I don't already know, then you're a presumptuous fucker and absolutely _wrong_. Furthermore, if there's anything I _don't_ appreciate, it's this passive-aggressive bullying methodology you've got going. If there's something you'd like to say to my face when we're off the clock, then you should just bloody well _say_ it and clear the air. Got it?"

The Andys, too stunned to answer, just nodded. Danny was in awe of Nicholas's occasional ability to scare the living daylights out of people. It wasn't so much _what_ he said, either—it was mostly in the delivery and in the slightly mad look he wore while he was at it. After all, his reputation had recently hit another glass ceiling.

"Tellemlad," said Walker, approvingly. Saxon sat not far off, idly panting.

"Cheers!" said Doris, raising her glass. Even though nobody quite understood _what_ they were toasting, they were all more than happy to comply. Danny couldn't help but notice that Nicholas didn't bother to clink glasses with anybody but him, which was reassuring. As usual, Fisher found a way of making things awkward.

"Seeing as _I_ never got to speak my piece..."

Thirty-five minutes and several more rounds later, everyone had heard far more than they'd _ever_ wanted to know about Fisher and the missus. Danny thought he'd read all he could stand to read in the local paper, what with Fisher constantly chatting to the reporters about this, that, and the other thing, but he'd clearly been wrong. Across the table, Nicholas was looking either bored or tired, or possibly _both_. He got a sort of pleasant, droopy-eyed look about him when he'd had one too many pints.

Danny mouthed, _Wanna go?_

 _Yeah_ , Nicholas replied, barely audible.

Somehow, they managed to make an exit with minimal fuss. Doris, by then fairly well in her cups, insisted on hugging them good night. Cartwright was stonily silent, but Wainwright waved drunkenly. Walker gave a sort of tipsy salute.

Once they were outside, Danny blurted, "It's a good job the Turners are still on holiday!"

"I imagine so," said Nicholas, scanning the empty high street out of habit. "They've been spared the worst nonsense we've had to endure since that rash of stink-bombs from the teenage offspring of a few irked parishioners."

"They weren't _using_ the hall. I can't understand why they got bent out of shape."

Nicholas sighed, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, "Let's get you home."

"Why? I won't turn into a pumpkin or anything," Danny replied, keeping his pace deliberately slow. "This is the best weather we've had all month. Let's enjoy it, yeah?"

"If you insist," said Nicholas, trying to sound put-upon and failing miserably.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, taking in the sounds of a not-quite-sleeping village. Reassuring, that life could go on as normal in spite of the horrors they'd been through. Danny was busy trying to pick out what BBC program was drifting through someone's nearby open window when Nicholas spoke.

"I doubt they would've been interested anyway."

Danny snapped out of it. "In what?"

Nicholas laughed. "My fantasies, such as they are. And I take it you're not really _that_ obsessed with Bond girls, are you, admirable though they may be?"

It was Danny's turn to laugh. "No, not really. There are plenty of other things in the world worth wanting!"

"Such as?" Nicholas asked, raising his eyebrows. So fucking _earnest_.

"Things I can't have," answered Danny, simply, looking him square in the eye.

"Ah," he replied, but didn't look away. "That's...familiar."

Danny nodded and glanced down at his feet, fighting the urge to smile.

"Funny, but you kind of get used to it, don't you?"

"I'm not sure I ever will. Hey, this is your stop."

Before Danny could ask him what he'd meant by it, Nicholas had clapped him briefly on the shoulder with a murmured _good night_ and started on his way. It said more than Danny ever could have and, strangely, gave him hope. That was all he needed, really.

 

 

* * *

 

What Danny was about to do was going to take every last ounce of courage he had. There wasn't much he could do to prepare for it, either. Asking Doris for help was a double-edged sword. Usually, you got what you wanted, but you also ended up tolerating the worst of her quirks in the process – that would be the chattiness. Danny had the feeling that _too much information_ wasn't even going to cover it.

Catching Doris on her lunch break would be the hard part, given she wasn't particularly a creature of habit. She tended to eat whenever she was hungry, and that could mean 11:30 AM on one day and 2:00 PM on another. Danny stuck close to his desk, seeing as it wasn't that far from Doris's, and kept an eye out. Every once in a while, he'd catch Nicholas regarding him rather pensively from the office. They hadn't exchanged words yet, as Nicholas had arrived _so_ early as to be clear of the lockers before Danny got there. Given the awkwardness of the night before, Danny supposed he could understand. Nicholas was learning unsettling things about himself, too.

As Danny was about to decide he'd had it, that he ought to just bite the bullet and confront Nicholas without a clear plan of action, Doris finally returned to her desk and rummaged around in the bottom drawer for her purse. It was one o'clock.

"Where you going?" asked Danny, casually.

"The corner shop for a sandwich, then maybe the duck-pond. It's a nice day, and I haven't eaten outside in a while."

"Fancy some company?" Danny swallowed. He couldn't lose his nerve now.

Doris smiled brightly. "Sure!"

They sat in silence for the first few minutes, contemplating the waterfowl over their chicken and mayo. A pair of black swans had migrated in from out of town that spring and decided to stay. The five cygnets were getting big. Mr. Staker's ordinary swan had already got loose several times and picked some fights with the proud parents.

"They mate for life, you know," Doris said at length. "Isn't it sweet?"

Danny nodded, chewing carefully. "Nice of 'im to stick around and help raise the kids."

"There was a time when I expected I'd have several by now," she sighed. "Funny, how things change!"

Danny took a deep breath and nodded. He should at least be grateful that the segue was practically being handed to him on a silver platter. With a side of swans, even. They'd gained an almost heraldic significance in his personal mythology. Swans were tough little fuckers – and _brave_.

"What about you?" Doris asked. "Is this how you figured your life would turn out?"

"Yes and no," Danny said, and thought, _Now or never_. "Yes, in that I always knew I'd never leave Sandford. No, in that I never thought I'd have a fighting chance at somebody I might want to spend the rest of my life with."

Doris's eyes went wide for only a moment. Her look of surprise was replaced by a soft, knowing one, as if she'd seen this coming for a very long time.

"But I don't know what to do," Danny went on, helplessly. "I don't know where to start. This is more than just a fantasy, it turns out, and a hundred times more important!"

"I know you," Doris said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "You wouldn't be thinking this way if you didn't know he was feeling the same."

"There's the thing, though," replied Danny, frustrated. "I only _suspect_ he does. There was this sort of…moment last night, but he got scared and walked away. I was waiting, Doris. I was ready. I'd even _said_ all the right stuff – or so I'd thought." Danny shook his head and tossed what was left of his sandwich to the swans.

Doris ate what was left of hers, brushing the crumbs off her lap. "Maybe you weren't clear enough. He's one of those _literal_ types, isn't he? If it's my advice you're after, I'd say just snog him next time you get the chance. That'll get the message across!"

"But what if I'm wrong?" Danny asked. "Things could get ugly."

Doris gave him a mildly reproachful look. "Things are already looking ugly, if you want my honest opinion. Besides, I was hoping neither of you would report for duty today – I had a bet going with Andy! Lost me ten quid, you lot did."

Danny rummaged in his pocket and produced a rumpled tenner.

"For your trouble," he said, grinning apologetically.

"Danny! Put that away. I wouldn't dream of taking your money. Just do me a favor and don't show up to work _tomorrow_ , all right? Walker's got twenty riding on you. Forty-eight hours, he said. We _think_."

Danny blinked incredulously. "When was all this?"

"Last night, of course. After you hauled the Inspector out of there looking like you had a mind to try everything on him that Fisher had been on about, plus more!"

Danny covered his face and groaned. "Remind me _never_ to think I'm subtle. _Ever_ again."

"It's fine," Doris said, patting him on the back. "Just do me _another_ favor and put that miserable bastard _out_ of his misery, would you? He's been ever so snippy!"

"Yeah, 'kay," sighed Danny, looking to the swans for courage. "I'll try."

 

* * *

 

If Nicholas had wondered where Danny and Doris had buggered off to for an hour and a half, he wasn't bothering to ask. The rest of the day passed in blissful redundancy, except for the part where Saxon made off with Andy's yogurt and a messy ten-minute chase ensued. Doris was pretty sure they wouldn't get those berry-stains out of the carpet until somebody could find a hoover with shampooing capabilities. Nick stood there frowning, clearly imagining another plague of stink-bombs.

By the time it was five-thirty, everyone except the three of them, Walker, and Saxon had left for the pub. Nicholas looked to be busy with some piece of paperwork or another, too intent on his task for Danny's taste. Doris gave him a meaningful look.

"Get him out of here, why don't you?" she whispered. "Walker 'n' me will finish up!"

Danny stood up, mustering his resolve. _Swans_ , he told himself. _Think swans_.

Much to Danny's relief, Nicholas looked more startled than annoyed when he walked into the office. He fiddled with his pen for a few more seconds, then put it down.

"Thought we might get on home," Danny suggested, forcing a calm smile. "It's going on six."

Nicholas glanced at the clock and looked even _more_ startled. "That time already?"

"Come on," Danny said, grabbing the clipboard from in front of him and shoving it in one of the side drawers. "Whatever it is, it'll keep till tomorrow!"

"Purchase orders on some supplies for the new station," Nicholas admitted, rising, removing his jacket from the back of his chair. "It's bloody dull, is what."

Even though the changing room was empty, they changed in relative silence. Nicholas's eyes were fixed on the floor the entire time – not just when they were in various states of undress. Danny wanted to watch Nicholas's every move, but he thought it the better part of valor not to (considering what he was about to do them both).

No sooner had they finished dressing and made their way outside—Danny had done his level best to ignore Doris's unabashed look of encouragement—than Nicholas said, stiffly, "I'd like to apologize."

"Danny glanced over at him idly, as if this was news. "For what?"

"My silence," Nicholas responded, chagrined. "And for walking out on you last night. There would have been plenty of time to watch your new film."

Danny shrugged, grateful that Nicholas seemed to be meeting his eyes again. "It's all right. Tim Burton's _Sleepy Hollow_ , in all its campy glory, can wait." He offered Nicholas a teasing smile. "Come to think of it, that one might hit a little too close to home!"

Sounding relieved, Nicholas laughed, "I've heard as much." A light rain started to fall.

"It's brilliant, though," Danny said, brushing a few raindrops off his nose. "The blood effects make my fork trick look absolutely _pathetic_. I remember goin' to see it at the cinema with Dad. He didn't even _blink_ at the beheadings."

There were a few moments of awkward silence, punctuated only by the gathering strength of the rain and Nicholas drawing a sudden, labored breath as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. "Last time I went to the cinema, I was twenty."

"You're joking!" said Danny, astonished. "And that's how many years ago now—at least ten or twelve?"

"Almost sixteen," Nicholas admitted, biting his lip. "I'm one sad fucker, aren't I?"

"I must've sensed the gaping void in your life from day one," Danny said, shocked to find that his clothes were getting soaked. Fortunately, they were practically on his doorstep. He searched his pockets for the keys and added, as if off-handedly, "Listen—if you're not in the mood for a film this week, I understand. You've got a lot on your plate, what with stink-bomb attacks and arranging the new station. But won't you at least some in for coffee? I've got Doris's mum's leftover tea cakes, Cadbury's hot cocoa mix if you prefer it, and I _think_ some green tea that you left here last week."

By the end of Danny's carefully executed monologue, Nicholas was smiling more freely than he had in at _least_ a year—and in spite of the rain, which he normally hated. The hope that Danny had felt the night before, so fragile and tenuous, blossomed into something almost tangible. Perhaps Nicholas was thinking of the swans, too.

"You've made me an offer I can't refuse. Half a cup won't kill me, I suppose!" Nicholas had to raise his voice to make himself heard over a sudden clap of thunder.

"That's right," Danny said, his heart pounding as he unlocked the gate, then the front door, and let them in. "We'll fill up the other half with Cadbury's, and then you'll have a mocha. It pays to live dangerously once in a while. _You_ taught me that."

"Then I've been a bad influence," Nicholas said, leaving his sodden shoes at the door. No matter how many times Danny witnessed it, Nicholas's thoughtful gesture got to him every time. Far gone— _had_ he said far gone? He must be on the moon by now.

"Actually," Danny said, tossing his wet jacket over the nearest box, "you've done me a world of good." He wiped some stray droplets off his forehead and looked Nicholas up and down for emphasis, only to find that the poor sod was just as soaked as he was. Whatever powers Nicholas Angel might have possessed, built-in waterproofing was _not_ one of them. He looked so pathetic that Danny couldn't help laughing.

"You're no Sahara yourself at the moment," he informed Danny sourly.

"Just wait a second," Danny said, struggling to bring his breath back under control. There were the pains again—faint, yet insistent. "I'll get us towels," he said, clamping one hand to his side, heading back the hall to his bathroom. He'd scarcely managed to get the lights on and the closet door open when he realized Nicholas was hovering in the doorway, looking pale as a ghost and as frightened as if he'd seen one.

"What?" Danny asked, tugging down two towels with his free hand. They weren't folded, but they were clean. He held the bundle out to Nicholas and said, "Here."

"You're hurting," said Nicholas, blankly, grabbing both of the towels. He tossed them on the floor and grabbed Danny instead, moving Danny's hand aside with the insistent pressure of his own. "What is it? What does it feel like?" His voice had risen to a note of panic that Danny was sure he'd heard before, but he couldn't recall when. Nicholas was almost shaking him. "Danny, _listen_ , if this continues—"

And there it was, right on cue: the astonished light in Nicholas's eyes as Danny's fingers found their way into his dripping hair. The water wasn't as warm as Danny had imagined it would be, but then, one could hardly expect perfection in the details.

"Nicholas, I'm _fine_ ," Danny said. "It's already gone. The doctor said that's normal. It just helps if I put a bit of pressure on, that's all. You've seen me do it at work, yeah?"

"I..." Nicholas was floundering at him, his eyes fixed on Danny's mouth. " _Ah_. I see."

Sheepishly, Danny grinned at him. No sense in trying to hide it now.

"Also, you can kiss me if you like. I wouldn't mind that one bit. Of course, if _you'd_ mind it, then that's a different story altogether and we can just forget I even—"

Judging by the way Nicholas was kissing him, forgetting Danny had even mentioned it was _not_ an option. And seeing as Nicholas's arms were exactly where they needed to be—sure and tight around Danny's ribcage, drifting lower by the second—Danny decided he'd be sacrificing at _least_ half of his sandwich as thanks to the swans for the rest of his lunchbreak-occupied life. He'd also buy Doris a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, because her suggestion of starting off with a snog? Was _spot on_.

 

* * *

 

Danny had expected the undressing part to be a lot more awkward, but because their clothes were by that point truly disgusting, it seemed like a non-issue even for Nicholas. Instead of staring at the floor, he let his eyes rest on whatever part of Danny he happened to be uncovering to the low bedroom light. He lingered over Danny's scars almost reverently, kissing an uneven line from Danny's chest down to his hip. Suddenly, not having made his bed that morning mattered very little. Nicholas had got Danny's trousers unzipped, and his breath against Danny's skin was shaky.

"Get up here," Danny said, tugging at Nicholas's shoulders, finding his voice strained. "You don't have to go doing _that_. Take it slow. We'll figure this out soon enough."

"It's not so much the figuring I'm worried about," Nicholas said, tugging on Danny's trouser legs until he'd managed to remove them. "There," he said, tossing them off the bed as carelessly as he'd discarded the towels, which they hadn't bothered to use. _He'd_ been completely naked for about five minutes, no small thanks to Danny's help.

"Like the shorts?" Danny asked, trying to lighten the mood. Nicholas was so unbelievably _serious_ all of a sudden, as if Danny had started clutching his side again. He picked at the light cotton fabric, straightening a bit of it so that Nicholas could make out the design. "I thought they might be appropriate. You know, just in case."

Nicholas squinted at the shamrocks, horseshoes, and dice, then smiled weakly.

"Gag gift from the Andys a few birthdays back?" he ventured, his fingers drifting tantalizingly close to the spot he'd only just accidentally hit a few seconds ago.

"From Doris, actually," Danny confessed, slightly embarrassed. "We had this wager going when we were at school—in sixth form," he explained, squirming a little as Nicholas's unsteady fingers finally unbuttoned him. "Whichever one of us got lucky first was supposed to buy the other something stupid to... _um_...commemorate the occasion." Nicholas was currently tugging the stupid something off of him, so the anecdote suddenly mattered even less than the rumpled sheets. _Far_ less.

"However juvenile the intention, I'm sure you could call it some form of insight," Nicholas said with obvious effort, his eyes fixed on Danny's as he let his hand drift down to stroke him. And then, very hesitantly, "Is—is _this_ —"

" _Fuck_ , Nicholas," Danny hissed. "Get _up_ here."

And then there was this, too, something Danny only half remembered from his dream. Nicholas weighed more in real life, but not nearly so much that it was uncomfortable, even considering the annoyance of his scars. It was on account of those, Danny was sure, that Nicholas needed so much coaxing, but all it took was that first hushed moment of contact and _yes_ , Nicholas was murmuring in his ear: "Danny, _yes_."

Whatever happened during the next five minutes, it was mostly a blur of kisses and sweat and discovering that Nicholas, bless him, _was_ all angles. By the time they had settled, Danny had somehow ended up on top. And it was just as well, because it took only a split second to realize that looking down on Nicholas like that was exactly where _he_ needed to be. The backs of Nicholas's thighs tensed under Danny's trembling hands, and without any more warning than a strangled cry, Nicholas was coming.

If that was the price of finishing last, Danny was willing to pay it.

Some time later—although _how_ much later, Danny wasn't sure—some banging around in the kitchen woke him up. Danny stretched and found that the sheets were firmly stuck to him from chest to ankles. He was just awake enough to get himself mostly untangled, although he was still drowsy enough for it to prove a losing battle. He flopped back against the damp pillows, drifting in and out of consciousness. Something smelled _lovely_ , and at some point the mattress dipped and something very, _very_ hot was precariously close to his face. He started awake with a gasp.

"Careful," Nicholas said, setting the mug against Danny's lips. "It's coffee."

Dazedly, Danny took a tentative sip. Nicholas didn't make a _half_ bad brew. Also, the part of his brain that had gone to the moon was on sentimental overload and he thought that he might, quite possibly, _cry_.

"Can you hold that for a second? Good. Mine's on the counter." And Nicholas was gone again, but only for a second, just like he'd promised. Getting comfortable again whilst holding scalding liquids in equally scalding mugs wasn't easy, but they managed it. Nicholas was wrapped in something he'd evidently pulled from the back of the closet. Danny was sure he hadn't seen that particular bathrobe in _years_. Danny wanted to say something, but he'd burned his tongue and there was _just_ enough sugar in his coffee.

Nicholas sipped his coffee in silence, staring at Danny's hand on his thigh as if he couldn't believe it was there, never mind what they'd been doing for the past hour.

Danny found the presence of mind to set his mug down on the bedside table.

"Look at me," he said to Nicholas, shifting cautiously so as not to cause a spill.

Nicholas glanced up hesitantly, his teeth latched firmly onto the rim of his mug.

"That's going to crack your enamel, or whatever the dentist calls it," Danny told him, taking hold of the mug and pulling it away from him. He set it over on the table, then reached over to tilt Nicholas's chin up. He was pretty sure he could draw it now.

"I am," said Nicholas, softly. "Looking at you, I mean."

Danny sucked in his breath, willing the twinge to pass. It was nearly too much, Nicholas here beside him, flushed and rain-mussed and ridiculously beautiful. He was going to act on this impulse whether it was a good idea or not, because Nicholas had _brought him coffee in bed_. His days of even _considering_ Bond girls were over.

"I—" _can't fucking believe I'm about to say this_ "—love you. I mean it."

Nicholas looked as if he'd been punched in the stomach again, only ten times harder.

"Those are strong words, Danny," he said. His voice was so low it might fade away.

"And you're a thick sort when it comes down to it, so I've got to be as clear as I can." Danny pulled him in close—no shower this time, unless stray tears counted—and didn't _dare_ look into his eyes. It was a terrible thing to say, but it was _true_.

Fortunately, Nicholas agreed. He was nodding against Danny's shoulder, his breath coming in either half-sobs or short bursts of laughter. A bit of both, Danny reckoned, and kissed the top of Nicholas's bedraggled head. He could _just_ make out what Nicholas was saying, and it was exactly what he'd been hoping to hear.

"I mean it, too, Danny. I really do."


	2. All Bets Are Off

The rotten thing about getting home from holiday was, you were always farther outside the loop than you were when you left. To make matters worse, Sergeant Turner's brother had caught some kind of exotic tummy bug while they were in Goa with their mum, which meant he wasn't even coming back to work on time (the tosser). At least _he'd_ been smart and not drunk the tap water.

The church-hall-cum-station was quiet when Turner arrived, but he was startled to find the front door already open. Hesitantly, he pushed his way inside. Doris was alone in the main room, quietly sat at her desk filling out some forms. Turner wondered vaguely if somebody had died.

"What happened?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Doris looked up at him and shrugged. "Nothin'. I just got here early, is all."

"Ain't that Angel's job?" asked Turner, suspiciously. Everybody knew that Inspector Angel never slept, and nobody knew it better, he reckoned, than Danny Butterman. But Doris, busybody that she was, ought to know it, too.

"Usually," said Doris, sounding rather chipper, "but he's been under a lot of stress lately, what with buildin' the new station, so I reckon he might just be having a lie-in."

Turner glanced at the clock on the wall, which was retro as hell, and then at Doris. He expected _Twilight Zone_ music to start playing any second.

"It's nine. He's usually here by eight thirty, and Danny's not far behind now that he's made sergeant an' all."

Doris shrugged again, breaking the tape on a white box that was off to one side on her desk. She lifted the lid and stuck her hand inside, drawing out something that smelled completely amazing. "Tea cake? Me mum made 'em special."

"Special for what?" Turner asked, advancing a few steps. It _did_ look good.

"For today?" Doris blinked at him as if perplexed, but she sounded guilty. "Here."

He accepted the pastry and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Where's Danny, then?"

Doris was already back at her paperwork. "I reckon he's havin' a lie-in, too," she said, not bothering to look up. "You could give me a hand and do this here purchase order for a hoover, though." She pulled another complicated-looking form out from under the one she was writing on.

Turner swallowed the tea cake, then took the form out of her hand. It was strange, being bossed about by a woman, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Still, he went over to his desk and got to it. At least he still had half a tea cake, and it _was_ amazing.

But it didn't change the fact that Doris was doing _worse_ than telling him nothing.

 

* * *

 

"You just wait," said Cartwright, holding the door for his partner. "He'll be sat there in the office, doin' his bloody paperwork, and Butterbum'll be there at his desk and it'll all be business as usual. You just wait and—"

"You were saying?" asked Wainwright. They stood there for a few seconds, staring.

"'Morning," Doris greeted them from her desk, waving. "You all right? Tea cake?"

"S'excellent," mumbled Turner, mouth half full and busy with some kind of paperwork.

"Back from the arse-end of India, are you?" Wainwright asked, forging ahead and already in a foul mood. Lately, that tone had begun to make Wainwright twitch a little. In his opinion, there wasn't the same call for it as there'd once been. Angel had proved he was more or less all right. "Where's your brother? Was he the only one with enough sense not to come back?"

"Sick," Turner said. "You _really_ ought to try one of these. They're smashing!"

Cartwright went over to Doris's desk and helped himself. Turner was right about _that_.

"You haven't got much of a tan," Wainwright continued, eyeing Doris suspiciously. "They must've turned the sun off when they heard you landed."

"Oy!" Doris scolded him. "Knock it off. Just for that, you can't have any."

"Didn't say I _wanted_ any," Wainwright sneered back, his arms folded across his chest. He was glaring at Wainwright now, a bit too close for comfort. "Of course, Andy here will share if I ask him. Won't you, mate?"

"Sod off," Cartwright muttered, shoving what was left of the tea cake in his mouth. "Either that or come and get it. Say," he ventured, brushing the crumbs off his moustache, "where's the Inspector? It's almost ten."

Doris shrugged and smiled at him. Wainwright's eyes fell on her paperwork, bulging in disbelief.

"Fancy that," said Cartwright, rather beginning to enjoy himself. "No sign of Danny, either?"

Still smiling, Doris just shook her head and wrote something down.

"There's no way," said Wainwright, his eyes darting nervously to the empty office. "No _fucking_ way." As an afterthought, he glanced at Walker's empty desk. "What about him, then? And Fisher? What'd everybody do, have a massive bender last night without tellin' us?"

"Me, I'm sober as a judge," said Doris, helping herself to another tea cake. "Ooh, that's _ever_ so good."

Cartwright grinned at Wainwright and followed suit. Never mind Bond girls: _this_ was going to be ace, and he had a front-row seat.

 

* * *

 

"What about me?" asked Fisher, coat slung over his shoulder as he came in through the front doors. It was a lovely, warm morning, and he wasn't about to take it for granted. "Sergeant!" he exclaimed, grinning at Turner. "You're back! Where's—"

"Sick," said Turner. "You want a tea cake? Doris is sharin'."

"If you wouldn't mind," he said to Doris, grinning hopefully. Cartwright was sat on the edge of her desk looking happy as a clam, whereas Wainwright was standing in front of the desk looking fit to smash something. He was the one who'd been asking.

"By all means," said Doris. " _He_ ain't allowed, though," she added, pointing at Andy. "So you just smack his hand away if he tries. Andy here's already had to do it once."

Fisher looked at Cartwright, who handed him a tea cake and nodded in confirmation.

"What about me, then?" he asked Wainwright, then took a bite of the pastry. There were _just_ enough sultanas and a hint of demerara sugar. "Doris, these are divine."

"Mum made 'em. She'll have some for sale at the next church fête, they've been so popular!"

"We were wonderin' where you were," said Wainwright, hungrily eyeing Fisher's prize.

"Ah," Fisher said. Mystery solved. "Speaking of which, where's the Inspector?"

"Lie-in, Doris reckons," volunteered Turner. "Paperwork's gone to his head. S'why we're doin' it. Butterman too. And God knows where Walker's got off to. Maybe Saxon decided to chase another lorry on their way in."

Fisher relished the last bit of tea cake. Wainwright looked downright _frightening_.

"Nobody tells _me_ nothing," he muttered, finally stalking away from Doris's desk.

They all enjoyed a good laugh as he retreated down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Doris had got the first text message around one in the morning. She'd been asleep for a few hours at that point, but she was in the habit of keeping her mobile on the bedstand. Even on vibrate, it tended to wake her. Came along with the insomnia.

 _askin ur advice frm now on_ was all it had said. She'd laughed herself back to sleep.

It had been no chore to turn up to work early, what when she'd been up again by six. In the event that Nicholas and Danny _did_ turn up—and she suspected at least one of them would—getting more of that paperwork out of the way could only be a help. Of all of them on staff, she had the second-best penmanship. She often wondered if Nicholas's handwriting had ever got mistaken for a girl's when he was growing up.

Her mum had dropped the tea cakes by the evening before, as if she'd known they'd have cause to celebrate. Doris reckoned mums were just like that, and her mum had, after all, done a lot of fussing over Danny after Mrs. Butterman died. Mr. Butterman had always appreciated it. Danny was the kid brother she'd never had, only without the kid part. They were, after all, the same age. Four months apart, almost exactly.

And it was suddenly weird as fuck to consider the fact that her kid brother was having it off with their superior officer, or was at least making progress in that direction. Doris shook herself and continued with the paperwork while all the laughter died down. Cartwright was a miserable bastard, too, but her days of trying to save _him_ were over.

The second text-message arrived during a heated discussion between Turner and Fisher on the subject of scones versus tea cakes. Wainwright, who was still sat on her desk, tried to lean over and see what it said, but Doris turned the mobile over face-down in her lap and tutted at him. "That's none of your business, now! Girl talk."

_im sick right? (wink wink nudge) nick is gonna be there in like five min stupid moron wish hed stay but omg fuckin hell doris!!! thanks for the pants did me some good in the long run xoxoxoxo oh btw nick is about to ring you NOW_

Cartwright jumped a foot when Doris's land-line extension rang.

"Good morning, Sandford Po— _oh_! Hello, Inspector." Instinctively, Doris raised her voice. "What, really? Ooh, _gosh_. That doesn't sound too good. Are you sure he'll be all right? Mm-hmm? I mean, are you _really_ sure you ought to leave him? Ah- _hah_. I see. Well, heaven knows you're the glue that holds this place together. Er. Right. Of course, Inspector. We'll see you shortly." She hung up and pulled the most concerned face that she could muster. "Danny's not feeling well. He won't be in today. Inspector's runnin' late on account of Danny having called him over this morning. He says you lot had better quit stuffing your faces and get to work."

That was sufficient to get Cartwright off her desk, which was all she really cared about. Besides knowing that Danny had done well for himself, of course. Nicholas was often a prat, but at least he was a responsible one. And he _did_ have a nice arse.

 

* * *

 

"Donch _ever_ doidagin," Walker told Saxon, sternly, shooing the dog into the station.

Saxon went straight for Doris's desk, and it was soon apparent _why_. She'd brought those lovely tea cakes again. Walker wished her a good morning, which was all it took to procure him one of the pastries. A little courtesy got you a long way. Most young folks didn't seem to realize that. Doris, though, she was a good girl. Not in the _usual_ fashion, mind, but she had a big heart and proper manners when it counted.

It only took Walker a few seconds to realize it was much quieter than usual. Patiently, he broke the tea cake in half and gave the other bit to Saxon.

"Angelaintinthen?" he asked, trying his best to sound casual.

"Not as yet," Doris said, smiling conspiratorially. "No Danny, neither."

Walker considered that for a second, which was all the thought it needed, nodding.

"Doris reckons they need sleep," said Turner. The lad was better informed than usual.

"Inspector's on his way, though," Wainwright added, skulking about the doorway as if he was waiting for something to happen. He kept glancing back the hall, presumably at Cartwright. Those two, now—no manners at _all_. "He rang five minutes ago."

"I'm already here," Nicholas said, the front door swinging shut behind him. Such an energetic lad, Walker had always thought, and _very_ dedicated. He'd do all right. Bless him, but Danny had always needed looking after. "Have I missed any calls?"

"None," said Doris, holding out the clipboard. "Got you a head-start on the rest of these. Turner's got the one for the new hoover. I've made sure it can do shampooing."

"Ah," Nicholas said to the sergeant. "Welcome back. Did you sample any local specialties?"

"I can't tell none of them curries apart," he admitted. "But they were all _nice_."

Walker liked a good lamb vindaloo himself, whereas Saxon preferred chicken balti.

"Wonderful," Nicholas replied, noticeably more relaxed than usual. Whatever fabrication he had constructed to cover Danny's absence and his own tardiness, he had convinced himself to do it without looking guilty. _Bloody_ dedicated, Walker thought. "I'll be in the office if anyone needs me," he finished, waving the clipboard.

"'Morning, Inspector," said Wainwright, blocking his way. "How was your lie-in, then?"

"Leavimbe," Walker insisted. Saxon barked in agreement.

Wainwright made a face at him, then turned back to Nicholas. "Well?"

"Pardon?" Nicholas asked, giving the cheeky lad the most condescending are-you- _sure_ -you-know-what-you're-on-about look he had in his repertoire. "Danny's having a bad time of it this morning. I gave him some painkillers and told him to stay in bed. Speaking of which," he added, over his shoulder to Doris, "I'm going to leave slightly early today, for which I apologize. He'll need checking up on."

"I'd have gladly done it for you, Inspector," said Doris. "But I understand! We'll hold down the fort right enough. It's best you make sure he ain't having a relapse."

"Thank you, Doris. Now, if you don't mind—?" Nicholas made a curt gesture that suggested Wainwright ought to get the fuck out of his way. Walker grinned.

"Not at all, _Inspector_." He hung to one side with Wainwright until Nichoalas was gone, at which point he zeroed in on Walker and said, "Not so fast, mate. All bets are _off_."

"Not the way I see it," Doris said, waving her mobile in the air. "I've got evidence!"

"Jesus Christ," said Cartwright, grudgingly reaching for his wallet.

Wainwright looked fit to burst, and if he wasn't careful, one of these days he _might_ do.

"Payup," Walker said. "Twennyeachseptin _you_ ," he added, nodding at Doris.

"You can have another tea cake, though. You've earned it!"

Forty quid the richer, Walker couldn't help but agree.


End file.
